The Augusta Madman!

Madison, GA (2/28/09) - It was Saturday evening in Augusta, Georgia. We were on a fact-finding mish, and we were bipping into town on a suburban highway.

A white truck pulled up behind us. This was no ordinary truck. It was one of those shiny new hulkers. The kind wealthy suburbanites buy because they think it fools everyone into thinking they're working-class heroes.

I wasn't fooled, of course, but that's not the point.

Anypoop, we were on River Watch Parkway in the partymobile, when we heard a maniac screaming his noggin off.

I turned around and noticed that a young man in the passenger's side of the white truck was screaming at our vehicle - as if it was a living thing that could hear it.

I knew right then I was chomping on some major league right-wing indignation.

We drove into town and lost the crazed clod.

The moment I heard the hapless oaf screaming, I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I'd dealt with this type before, and I knew right away he was a spoiled brat just from his behavior. I was surrounded by assholes like this in high school.

Several years ago, he was probably slapping poor kids in the head at his own high school and pissing in their backpacks. That is, if there were any poor kids at his school. I'm sure he lives in a sheltered exurban neighborhood, so there probably weren't.

But we evaded the little loser, and now he's out there, somewhere, yelling into the cold night air. And nobody's around to listen to his kookish ravings. Poor baby.

Get a life, mister. Stop living off your daddy's money.

Honestly, I don't know what could have possibly set him off today. Was it our Kentucky license plate? Did he have an uncanny radar-like ability to detect those of other political ideologies or economic groups? Or was he just stupid?

I will forever call him the Augusta Madman. He joins Old Stopsignface and the Getty Grouch in the gallery of strange characters I've encountered on fact-finding missions.

What a beezweezer.